I first made the acquaintance of the score of Lulu through the
1968 recording conducted by Karl Böhm, also with Evelyn Lear in
the title role. This DVD enshrines a performance given six years earlier,
and indeed records the Austrian première of the work given in
1962. Böhm was one of the most annoying of the major German conductors
of the period, because of his apparently overwhelming desire to set
his own mark on operatic scores by subjecting them to often massive
cutting. He even abridged Götterdämmerung at Bayreuth
in 1964, although his later performances which formed the basis for
his recording restored the omitted passage. In the works of his mentor
Richard Strauss he made cuts in his première recording of Daphne
- a score which was dedicated to him - and his use of the scissors in
pieces such as Elektra and Die Frau ohne Schatten became
more and more extreme as time went on. Berg’s use of closed musical
forms defied his editorial zeal, so here in this Lulu we are
given the score complete - or as complete as was possible at the time.

Berg left Lulu unfinished at the time of his death, with only
two passages of the Third Act completed and revised in full score as
part of the Lulu Suite although fortunately these included the
very end of the opera. Although the score was almost totally complete
in sketch form, his widow forbade anybody from attempting to put the
final Act into a performable condition. It was not until after her death
that Pierre Boulez finally managed to mount the opera in its entirety
in 1979, using an edition by Friedrich Cerha. The latter edition has
become the standard for all subsequent productions, and quite rightly
too. Cerha manages to produce a very convincing imitation of Berg’s
style, and the plot benefits enormously from being given at full length.
In the middle of the Second Act Berg wrote a palindromic interlude,
which turns the plot like a pivot; the first part of the opera shows
Lulu’s rise to riches and fame, and the second mirrors that in
its depiction of her fall, degradation and murder. There is even a deliberate
parody of the first half in the final scene, where each of Lulu’s
clients as a prostitute is sung by the same singers as the lovers who
have ‘helped’ her during the first part. Without these scenes
the palindromic interlude is misplaced, and the proportions of the whole
are maimed. Sadly, that was the only version available to Böhm
at the time, and so that is what we are given here.

Of the seven rival versions of Lulu on DVD, all use the Cerha
completion. Oddly enough the available versions do not include Patrice
Chéreau’s première production of the full score
which Boulez conducted, although this was televised at the time and
really deserves to be in the catalogues. Given the plethora of complete
recordings, this DVD is valuable purely as a historical document - although
it is a pretty good one, and gives us the score as it was always performed
during the first 44 years of its existence. That said, it cannot be
pretended that in 1962 players and singers were as comfortable with
Berg’s often extreme demands on their techniques as they are today.
The orchestral playing, although it sounds pretty accurate and was clearly
well rehearsed, is not such as to inspire confidence; and the recorded
balance is such that even in the opening bars the smashing piano clusters
are hardly audible.

The singers too are an oddly assorted bunch, combining veteran singers
in the twilight of their careers with a batch of young stars in the
making. In the latter category can be counted Evelyn Lear’s heroine,
Kurt Equiluz as the painter, and Hans Braun as the athlete. In the former
category we find Paul Schöffler as Doctor Schön (although
not, as Berg intended, doubling as Jack the Ripper), Peter Klein as
the Prince, Hilde Konetzni as the Wardrobe Mistress and Alois Pernestorfer
as the Ringmaster. The last-named, best-known now for his Alberich in
Furtwängler’s 1950 La Scala Ring, makes a pretty good
impression in his opening scene, delivering his Sprechstimme
with relish and displaying a still well-preserved voice. The other veterans,
all Wagnerian singers of note during the 1950s, have plenty of volume
and a strong sense of pitch to bring to their roles. They are assisted,
too, by the young Otto Schenk’s production, with plenty of dramatic
interplay in a naturalistic style. Schenk often failed to match this
in many of his later stagings for the Met and elsewhere. These are real
characters, and one can even feel a certain twinge of sympathy for the
collection of egotistical monsters that Wedekind and Berg created on
stage. One should also mention the baritone Josef Knapp as Lulu’s
putative father. The role is often allocated to veteran Wagnerian basses
but here we have a singer with a firm voice who can sustain his lines
superbly but despite his white hair and moustache he hardly looks seventy
years old.

In the title role Evelyn Lear is a model of corrupting and decaying
glamour. In her succession of gorgeous dresses she imports an element
of Elizabeth Taylor into the dramatic mix. She also sings her frequently
stratospheric notes with a degree of poise which eludes many other singers
who have essayed the role. Rudolf Schock too has a degree of glamour,
despite looking like a rather seedy lounge lizard. Although his career
was drawing towards its close he still has reserves of lyric strength
which recall his glory days as Walther in Kempe’s recording of
Die Meistersinger. Schöffler too had a claim to fame in
that opera, and it cannot be pretended that his voice as heard here
would any longer suit the role of Hans Sachs. However he still has plenty
of power, even if he has to resort to shouting his notes rather more
than Berg’s Sprechstimme would strictly permit.

No attempt is made to provide a visual stage presentation for the long
interlude in Act Two (where Berg wanted a film to be screened to explain
the action) or in the Variations. Instead, as during the other interludes,
we are shown Böhm in the pit, conducting with economical gestures
from a largely sedentary position. The balance of the orchestral playing
is not good. The brass are sometimes ear-splittingly loud, and the strings
often sound dismally thin and underpowered. This is particularly disturbing
during the Variations. The recorded balance favours the singers on stage,
but they frequently have to force their voices to ride the outbursts
from the brass in the pit. During the final Adagio we are shown the
Countess, the only really sympathetic character in the whole opera,
who declaims some lines from earlier in the Act and then delivers her
final lament over Lulu after the silent Jack the Ripper has killed her.
Gisela Litz is very good dramatically and looks young enough to be a
credible lover for Lulu, but one has heard this passage delivered with
greater lyrical beauty.

There are no extras provided, but the subtitles - derived from Arthur
Jacobs’s singing translation - are well-placed and informative
despite a couple of errors - “to well” for “too well”,
for example. There are one or two minor adjustments in the spoken dialogue,
splitting up Lulu’s long narration of her escape from prison,
but these are unimportant.

The opening of the DVD apologises for the quality of sound and picture,
but the black-and-white images are clear enough and the sound is generally
good although the applause at the end of Acts reveals a degree of wow
and flutter that suggests some tape damage.

As a version of the original version of Lulu this is unique in
the catalogue; and although those wanting a DVD of the opera will inevitably
gravitate towards a complete rendition of the score, the quality of
the performance is sufficient to justify a place for this historical
recording in the catalogues. It has another advantage, too: unlike many
of the modern issues, it adheres to Berg’s original scenario without
the superfluous addition of any layers of confusing ‘conception’.